Part I: The Santa Monica Detour
The taxi dropped us off at the Santa Monica Pier right as the sun was dipping below the horizon. The Pacific Ocean looked like molten gold.
"I have to go in," Percy said, kicking off his shoes. "The Nereid said to meet her here."
"Don't drown," I said, sitting on the sand. "And if you see a shark, punch it in the nose."
Percy waded in and vanished under the waves.
I sat there with Annabeth and Grover. The beach was cooling down. I watched the tourists walking on the pier, eating cotton candy.
"You really think we can do this?" Grover asked, fidgeting with his reed pipes. "Walk into the Underworld and walk out?"
"I don't plan on walking," I said, leaning back on my elbows. "I plan on storming. Hades has the Master Bolt. We go in, we grab it, we leave. If he tries to stop us... well, I still have the hammer."
"You can't hammer a God, Val," Annabeth sighed. "Hades is one of the Big Three. He controls the dead. You have to show respect."
"Respect is earned," I muttered, looking at the darkening sky. "So far, all the gods have done is try to kill me."
Percy surfaced about twenty minutes later. He looked dry (magic) and grim. He held three milky white pearls in his hand.
"Three," Percy said. "Only three."
"But there are four of us," Grover whispered.
I looked at the pearls. Escape ropes. One-time use.
"We'll figure it out," I said, standing up and brushing sand off my jeans. "Someone stays behind. Or we hijack a soul boat. Let's worry about the exit after we survive the entrance."
Part II: DOA Recording Studios
We found the address in West Hollywood. DOA Recording Studios.
The building was black brick with neon lights that flickered ominously. The windows were filled with dusty records that looked like they hadn't been touched since the disco era.
We walked into the lobby. It was crowded. But the people weren't talking. They were gray, transparent, and staring at nothing.
Ghosts. Spirits waiting for processing.
Behind a high podium sat a man in an expensive Italian suit. He had bleach-blond hair, sunglasses, and a smile that said, I get paid by the soul.
Charon. The Ferryman.
"Next," Charon drawled, not looking up from his magazine.
We stepped up. I towered over the desk, but Charon didn't flinch.
"We want to go down," Percy said.
"Reservation?" Charon asked, bored.
"We're... alive," Annabeth said.
Charon lowered his magazine. He looked at us. His eyes were empty sockets under the glasses.
"Alive?" He sniffed. "I hate living clients. You smell like warm blood and ambition. Go away."
"We need to see Hades," I said, leaning my hands on the desk. "Now."
Charon laughed. It was a cold, rattling sound. "Listen, muscle-boy. The waiting list is forty years long. Unless you're dead, beat it."
I looked at Percy. Time for the loot.
Percy pulled out the bag of drachmas we'd gotten from Ares. He poured a handful of massive gold coins onto the desk.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Charon's empty eyes widened. He licked his lips.
"Gold," he whispered. "Real Olympian gold. The exchange rate on this is fantastic."
"Is it enough?" Percy asked.
Charon swept the coins into his pocket faster than a magician. "It's enough for a VIP cruise. But don't tell the management. They frown on bribes."
He pushed a button. The wall behind him slid open.
"Follow me. And try not to breathe too much. The dead get jealous."
Part III: The River Styx
We boarded a wooden skiff that looked like it would sink if you sneezed on it.
But as soon as Charon pushed off, the scenery changed. The lobby walls melted away. The ceiling vanished, replaced by a cavern roof miles high, covered in stalactites that looked like jagged teeth.
Below us, the water turned black and oily. It was filled with trash—diplomas, wedding dresses, toys, money. All the hopes and dreams people threw away when they died.
The River Styx.
"It's polluted," Charon sighed, poling the boat. "Humans. You used to cross with dignity. Now you just clutter up my river."
I looked at the water. I felt a pull. A desire to jump in and sleep forever.
Don't, my brain warned. That's the ultimate boredom.
The boat docked at a black rocky beach. Ahead of us stood the Pavilion of Judgement and the Gates of Erebus.
And guarding the gates was the biggest dog I had ever seen.
Part IV: The Good Boy
Cerberus.
He was a Rottweiler. A three-headed, fifty-foot-tall Rottweiler. He was semi-transparent, like thick smoke. You could see his massive heart beating inside his chest.
The line of dead spirits walked right through his legs. They were terrified, but he ignored them. He was looking for intruders.
He smelled us.
All three heads turned. Six red eyes locked onto us.
GROWL.
The sound shook the ground.
"Okay," I said, unshipping my hammer. "Boss Fight. I'll take the left head, Percy you take the right. Annabeth, you distract the middle."
"No!" Annabeth yelled. "Valerius, put that down!"
"He's going to eat us!" I argued.
Cerberus lunged. I braced myself, ready to swing.
"Sit!" Annabeth commanded.
I froze. The dog froze.
Annabeth reached into her backpack. She pulled out a bright red rubber ball she'd stolen from Waterland.
"You want the ball?" she asked in a baby voice. "Who's a good boy?"
Cerberus whined. The sound came from three throats at once. It was pathetic and adorable. The middle head tilted, ears flopping.
"Throw it!" Percy whispered.
Annabeth threw the ball.
The massive dog scrambled after it, slipping on the wet rocks, tails wagging so hard they created a windstorm.
"Go!" Annabeth shouted. "While he's distracted!"
We ran through the EZ-Pass lane for the dead. As we passed under the massive archway, I looked back.
Cerberus was chewing on the red ball, looking happy.
"I was going to hit a puppy," I muttered, feeling like a monster. "A giant, demonic puppy."
"You have issues," Annabeth panted as we entered the Fields of Asphodel.
Part V: The Fields
The Underworld wasn't hell. It was just... crowded.
The Fields of Asphodel were endless fields of black grass. Millions of souls wandered around, murmuring, looking confused. It was like a crowded shopping mall where no one bought anything.
"Boring," I whispered. "This is my hell. Eternal boredom."
We hiked for miles. The air was cold and dead.
Finally, we saw it. The dark palace of Hades. Made of black obsidian, surrounded by walls of bone.
And in the distance, a pit. A deep, dark hole that seemed to suck the light out of the air.
Tartarus.
As we walked past the pit, my backpack felt heavier.
Wait.
I stopped. I adjusted the strap.
Why was my backpack heavier?
I checked the side pocket. I hadn't put anything in there since the water park.
I unzipped it slightly. Inside, nestled among the Oreos and the spare socks, was a metal cylinder. It crackled with blue energy.
The Master Bolt.
My heart stopped.
Ares. The backpack.
He switched it, I realized. He didn't just give us a ride. He framed us.
I looked at Percy. He had the backpack Ares gave him.
"Val?" Percy asked. "You okay? You look like you saw a ghost. Which, you know, we're seeing a lot of."
I zipped the bag shut quickly.
If I told them now, they'd panic. We were already in the Underworld. If I pulled out the Bolt, Hades would sense it instantly and incinerate us.
I had to play it cool. I had to walk into the lion's den with the stolen meat in my pocket and pretend I was a vegan.
"I'm fine," I lied, sweating cold sweat. "Just... allergies. Let's go meet your uncle."
We marched toward the palace.
I gripped my hammer. I wasn't just fighting for a quest anymore. I was fighting a setup.
Nice play, Ares, I thought, staring at the black castle. But you forgot one thing. I don't play by the rules.